Snowfall in July
by Sela McGrane
Summary: Sequel to Kelly Chambliss' "Roses in December" - Minerva has a dream which makes her question what exactly happened between herself and Neville Longbottom during their time together in the Room of Requirement. Written with Kelly Chambliss' permission!
1. Chapter 1

**With the permission of "Kelly Chambliss", I present to you a followup fic to her story titled "Roses in December". I was so utterly moved by her unusual pairing, and after rereading it for the fifth or sixth time, I wrote and asked her permission to do this. Thank you Kelly, for allowing me to build on your work!**

* * *

_Minerva McGonagall found herself laying naked in the bed of her grandmother's cottage, with a much younger man's arms wrapped tightly around her. The window was open, letting the breeze cool their sweat covered bodies, and the stars seep into the dark room, furnishing it with dim shadows._

_The young man - Neville Longbottom - propped himself on his elbow and looked down at her. Minerva couldn't resist the urge to run her fingers through his damp, brown hair. As he leaned into her touch, he sighed. "I'm afraid I was too fast," he said apologetically. _

"_Next time, you can be slower if you like," she replied calmly. Minerva's body was humming in satisfaction as it was, and she decided that she certainly was looking forward to spending more time in the company of this young man. _

_Neville smiled, and lay back on the pillow they shared, pulling her body close. He inhaled the scent of her hair, and she gripped his hand and pulled it tighter against her breast. Deep inside, she knew that somewhere out there, beyond the boundaries of this serene place, there was chaos in the world and it was her duty to help bring order to it. For the moment, however, she was content to just forget about all that - content to just be a woman falling in love._

Minerva woke with a start, heart racing, and feeling a profound sense of loss. She had _never _looked at young Mr. Longbottom in such a way, but somehow, the dream she'd just had seemed so utterly right that she couldn't help but wonder. She wondered if subconsciously, she'd become attracted to her student; a young man who had grown so very much in this last year, taking charge of his fellow Gryffindors while she tried to keep Snape and the Carrows at bay. Hell, on top of doing all that, he had taken care of _her_ after the Cruciatus curse had robbed her of her memories during the better part of December. It was July now, and with Voldemort's demise the month before, there was now hope of future not so filled with grief.

The newly instated Headmistress of Hogwarts frowned as a thought occurred to her. She remembered nothing of her time hiding out in the Room of Requirement with Mr. Longbottom checking in on her each day, though she'd been told that the Room had taken the form of the very cottage which had been featured in her dream. Suddenly, the horrifying question of if she'd somehow allowed herself to become attracted to a student seems pale in comparison to the question now on her mind.

Had that dream really been a dream, or was it a memory which Poppy had insisted she'd never recover? Minerva gulped as the details of the dream repeated themselves in her mind. Had she taken her student to bed, seven months prior?

* * *

After a few more hours of restless sleep, Minerva rose, showered and dressed, and made her way toward the Hospital Wing. It was nearly time for breakfast, but she hoped to catch Poppy for a moment before the day started. While school was not in session due to the damage of the final battle, it had been agreed the week before that those wishing to help with cleanup were to come to the Hogwarts for breakfast at eight, and from there they would organize teams and a plan of action. Other that Mister Potter and Miss Granger, who had both assured her the night before they'd be there, Minerva wasn't sure who all would show up. She anticipated a good many, however, especially from her own house.

While Hufflepuffs were more noted for loyalty and hard work, Gryffindors stuck with their own, and with her as Headmistress, she had no doubts that many of her cubs would remain, if only to ease her burden. Minerva couldn't help but wonder if Mr. Longbottom would be among those to stay. She'd honestly be surprised if he didn't. Dream being fiction or reality, the young man had often show up at just the right time to keep her out of trouble in the course of the last term, even though he seldom went to classes, spending most of his time in the Room of Requirement with other students who were high targets of Snape and the Carrows. Before the early hours of this morning, she'd dismissed the behavior as simple loyalty, made stronger by his assignment to care for her in December. Now, she wondered if there was more to it.

"Poppy?" she called, stepping into the Matron's domain.

"Minerva!" Poppy greeted. "What can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if you could spare a moment to speak with me regarding the incident seven months ago," the Scottish woman posed.

"Are you having problems with pain?" the mediwitch frowned. "I did worry there would be lingering effects from…"

"Rather a query on my loss of memory during the month of December," Minerva clarified. "I know you said it was not likely I'd ever get the memory back, but we never discussed, if it should resurface, how it might manifest."

Poppy looked at her friend curiously. "It's best guess, honestly - memory is so complex you see, but if I were to speculate I'd suspect that since the memory was suppressed to your subconscious mind, that any resurfacing would begin from that origin; an unusually vivid dream, perhaps."

Minerva's breathing hitched. "Do you know anything about my… activities … during that time?"

Poppy shrugged. "Very little. Neville and I were the only ones to see you during that month, and him far more than me. If you have questions, you'd be better off asking him."

She couldn't help the blush rising on her cheeks. "I'm not sure that is really a good idea. You see, I had a dream last night in which Mr. Longbottom and myself were…"

"Were what?" Poppy asked, seemingly oblivious to the tension in her colleague's voice.

"Well...we were…" Minerva _could not_ believe she was saying this. "We were in bed together."

Understanding dawned on the Matron. "Ohhhhh… oh my."

"Indeed."

Poppy cleared her throat. "Well, he turns eighteen at the end of this month, which means he was of age then…"

"Hardly the point, Poppy!" Minerva snapped. "He is my student!"

"He didn't take Transfiguration past his OWLs," Poppy argued.

"A technicality!"

"He has grown into quite the handsome fellow…"

"Poppy!" the Headmistress screeched.

"What on earth are you two rowing about?" Filius Flitwick's voice inquired.

"Minerva shagged Neville," Poppy blurted with a giggle.

"I did not!" she objected weakly, sinking onto a nearby chair.

"My mistake," the Marton said. "She _may have_ shagged him. You know, when he was minding her in December?"

Filius smirked. "Memory coming back?"

Minerva reared on the Charms professor. "What do you know, Filius?!"

"Nothing concrete," he replied, not even flinching. "Only that if one watches closely, they see things others do not, and I have _seen_ the way Mr. Longbottom looks at you."

"And how, pray tell, has he been looking at me?" Minerva fumed.

Filius patted her on the shoulder. "Like a man looks at a woman he loves. I suspect, if nothing did happen then, that he, and perhaps you as well, wishes it had."

"Just bloody great!" Minerva scowled.

* * *

At breakfast, Minerva's eyes sought out the young man featured in her dream. She was unsurprised to find him sitting at the Gryffindor table, alongside Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, and Mr. Finnigan. Ronald and Ginerva Weasley were not there, but as they'd lost a brother a few weeks ago, she expected that the family was mourning somewhere privately. As if he'd sensed her looking at him, Neville's eyes drifted to the Head Table, and he caught her gaze. He nodded at her, and smiled softly. For the first time..._she hoped_… Minerva saw Neville the man, rather than the boy she'd taught for seven years. Gone was the awkward, orphaned child, and staring at her with incredible blue eyes and stubble covered cheeks was a young man, acutely aware of just how much pain there was in the world.

She forced herself to look away, engaging in mindless chatter with Pomona, and after breakfast was over, she focused her attention on the group of six hundred and fourteen people who had offered to assist in the cleanup and rebuilding of the school that each of them had, at one point or another, called home. In wasn't until lunch time that Minerva found herself looking into Neville's eyes again, though this time, she could not look away, as he'd approached her.

"Professor?" he called, walking toward her after the midday meal had been cleared.

"Yes, Mr. Longbottom?" she replied, keeping her tone even and her chin held high.

"Are you alright?" he asked, concern in his tone. "You've been acting a bit distracted today. I only mention it because you said you were going to work on the bridge this afternoon and if you're not really focused, you could…"

"I appreciate your concern, Neville…" she started. Her voice cut off when she realized what she had just called him. She'd used his given name a grand total of once since they had met. It had been the day she'd called him to her office to thank him for his care. She'd been surprised to hear the name coming off her tongue that day, sounding so natural, and it was equally easy and surprising right now.

Neville's face paled slightly, as if he was suddenly very worried about something. "Professor, if you'll excuse me…

"Mr. Longbottom!" she called after him as he turned to walk away.

"Just be careful!" he called back, though he did not stop walking.

She watched him move through the crowd of people, finally stopped in front of Poppy. Minerva discreetly followed, hoping to overhear their obviously heated discussion. She arrived moments before Neville stormed away, catching only his parting words of, "_it's up to her."_

* * *

The next time she saw him, she'd approached him of her own free will. Minerva had gone to mend the bridge, and as Neville had feared, her preoccupation had caused her to be less than focused on her task, and a falling board had left a sizeable gash on her arm. Poppy had mended it straight away, of course, but the fact that it happened at all made it perfectly clear to her that she needed to deal with _this_ sooner rather than later. She had a school to rebuild, and the muddled thoughts consuming her right now were only serving to get in the way. She was a bloody adult, and so was Neville. If nothing happened, a bit of embarrassment at asking was a small price to pay for peace of mind. If something _had_ happened… well, she'd deal with that if and when it needed dealing with.

"Mr. Longbottom, a word," she stated, walking toward the lone figure standing by the Black Lake, watching the sun begin to set.

Neville took a deep breath before replying. "Yes, Professor?"

"I have questions," she started, "about what happened in December... at the cottage."

He turned to face her, sadness in his eyes as he stood tall and proud before her. "What do you really want to ask, Minerva?" he whispered, stepping close enough to her that she could easily reach out and touch him.

The use of her given name was plenty an answer. "Shit," she muttered, looking down. "Mr. Longbottom, I must apologize…"

"Don't you dare!" he insisted. "Please, please… don't be sorry for letting me love you."

"Neville," she said weakly, forgoing formality. Why should she address him as a student, when he'd been her lover only months before? "It should never have happened."

"Neither should this war have," he calmly replied, reaching up and brushing her cheek with the back of his hand. "But it did, and we have to decide if we face what we can't undo, or if we run away from it."

"Gryffindors don't run away," she mused.

"Well, if you want to call it a strategic retreat," Neville smirked, "I wouldn't hold it against you. Though Merlin knows I hope you won't."

"I need time to think about it," Minerva decided. "All my memory has managed to jog up is one night… the first night, I think. If we got to know one another to _that_ level, the month in the cottage, I'm afraid I don't have much information to work with. I only know how I felt…"

"Isn't that enough?" the young man asked.

"I am sixty-three years old, Neville," she said pointedly. "You are not even eighteen yet, and are technically still my student. If we were to pursue what evolved between us seventh months ago, people would undoubtedly find out, and not think well of either of us for it. The consequences must be carefully considered."

Neville chuckled. "You said nearly the same thing after our first kiss."

"Did I?"

"Yes," he nodded. "And yet, you took me to bed the following night."

"Did I ever say why I'd taken leave of my senses?" Minerva asked, trying to remember her reasoning back then. What the bloody hell had she been thinking?

"Not really," he shrugged. "At the time, I was too happy to have you in my arms to even ask. When you got your memory back, and lost the memories of our time at the cottage… I didn't really let myself ask why - I was just grateful for the time we had."

"That's why you didn't want Filius to remove your memory…" she suddenly said, understanding dawning on her.

He nodded, and then leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek, like he had that day in her office. "Just think about it," he whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."

Before Minerva could say another word, Neville turned and walked away, leaving her standing there with a gaping hole in her heart. She already knew what she wanted to do, but the question still remained: could she?

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**Please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Been over a year since I wrote the first part of this sequel to "Roses in December", but after rereading it this morning I was inspired to continue. Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

A week passed and Minerva was no closer to figuring out what to do regarding Neville. A large part of her wanted to just run to him, kiss him in front of everyone by way of answer, and damn the consequences. Another part of her felt like she ought to stay far away from the young man, and not put him in a position to be potentially ridiculed for years to come. Another factor to consider was her current position as Head of Hogwarts. She'd worked for years to get to this point, and taken the post gladly, and it was a bit disturbing to her now that her lifelong ambition to have the prestigious position seemed to be the least of her worries regarding potential consequences to recoupling with Neville.

She wondered what he saw in her - a woman decades his elder and commonly associated with a stern nature. Of course, she had a softer side as every woman did no matter their profession, but she couldn't figure out how Neville could have seen _that_ in such a short time. Those weeks in the Room of Requirement had surely not begun with an effort on either of their parts to woo the other. Prior to last December, she'd been nothing more than a teacher to him, and she hadn't seen him as anything more than a student.

It crossed her mind that Neville had only taken her subject to OWL levels, and as such his journey into manhood had been only distantly observed. He had never been the sort of student to seek out his Head of House to solve his problems, and so outside of classes past his fifth year, they'd had very little in the way of interaction. "Would I have become attracted to him had he continued on in my classes?" she asked her bathroom mirror.

"He's a handsome lad," her mirror replied in it's feminine voice. "Your observational skills would never have missed that fact had you seen him every day."

It was silly, Minerva knew, that at the present the closest thing she had to a confidant in this situation was her magically animated bathroom mirror. It had listened to her rant and rave for the first two days, finally snapping at her on day three and telling her that if Minerva was going to continue on the subject, she'd be giving her own two cents on the subject. At the moment, Minerva had been furious at the sheer audacity, though four days later she found herself grudgingly grateful for the outlet.

"I may have noticed he'd grown physically attractive, but this is about more than that. It's deeper, more emotional. It's…" her voice trailed off.

"Love?" the mirror asked.

"Yes," she whispered in reply. "Though I'll be damned if I can figure out how that happened."

"Those are questions only your young beau would know the answers to. You may not have shared with him, then, your reasons for agreeing to get involved with him," the mirror said. "However he did witness the version of yourself that he grew to care for. As I suspect with no memory of your life and the wars you've fought and the losses you've suffered, you were much more relaxed, and open… more innocent, even."

"Innocent enough in mindset to throw caution to the wind and bed my then seventeen year old student?" Minerva demanded skeptically.

"Innocent enough to not care about adverse consequences, or innocent enough to believe that love really is the solve all," the mirror countered. "Innocent enough to be open to a feeling you've not let yourself feel since you were only a bit older than he is."

"Since Dougal," Minerva said with a sigh. "No memory of how much loving and losing hurts could certainly account for my openness to the emotion regarding Neville."

"All of that aside - as it really doesn't matter _how_ it happened so much as it matters that it did - what are you going to do about it now?" the mirror asked. "It was a unique situation that allowed you to be open to something you've not been open to in forty years. He obviously wants a chance to continue the relationship, so setting aside perceptions of _the right thing to do_ in your mind, what do you _want_?"

"Him."

* * *

Minerva really wouldn't go as far as to say she'd made her decision about if or not to resume her affair with Neville - or allow it to become something more, for that matter - but at least she'd come as far as recognizing she needed to talk to him about things. Before making any conclusions about what she could see in him, she needed to know what he saw in her. Of course, only he could answer those questions.

So, she sought him out.

Or would, after lunch.

No, after dinner.

Wait, no, after breakfast tomorrow.

Maybe after they were done with the rebuilding of the castle…

Fate, it seemed, was having none of her cowardice. When she opened the door to leave her office to head for lunch, she found herself suddenly in a familiar cottage which had been left to her by her grandmother, many years ago. The very cottage, in fact, that had been her hideaway for the better part of December.

Before she'd even had the chance to try and turn back into her office, the door she'd entered via closed and sealed behind her. With a sigh of resignation, she moved toward the kitchen, and took a seat at the table. No sooner had she done that when she was met with blinding pain in her head, causing her to cry out and slip off the chair and into a heap on the floor.

Her mind was filled with images:

_Walking arm in arm with Neville along the Moor. Kneeling on this very floor and leaning into Neville's kiss. Asking him to leave, but knowing he'd be back. Standing on the back porch and realizing that she'd come to love the young man acting as her caregiver. Knowing they each had lives to go back to when her memory returned, and his warning that they may both be dead by the end of the year. Deciding that regret was more heartbreaking than any consequence to her actions, and knowing she'd regret if she didn't let him love her… if she didn't let herself love him. _

_Further back, the memory of the Carrows' attack on her._

She was still gasping at the influx of memories flooding into her psyche, offering residual physical manifestations when she registered the sound of a door opening through the pain now flooding her entire body, and then she heard hurried footsteps.

"Minerva," Neville's voice called desperately, worry obvious in his tone. "Minerva, love, are you alright?"

She sank into him as he pulled her still shaking form close, grasping his t-shirt and inhaling his familiar scent as she struggled to get her breathing under control. "I... I remember," she rasped out after a minute. "Oh, gods, Neville I remember everything!"

"Oh, Merlin," he whispered. Without another word he scooped her into his arms and stood, standing before the fireplace only long enough to state the Hospital Wing as his intended destination. Apparently, the Room of Requirement did not need Floo powder to connect to another place, as a moment later they were stepping out of the Hospital Wing's fireplace and Minerva heard Neville calling out for Poppy.

"What happened this time?" Poppy asked as Neville laid her on a bed.

"I found her in the Room of Requirement… the cottage," Neville explained. "She said she's remembered. By the way her body is shaking, I'm guessing the memory of her attack came with some of the pain from the Cruciatus."

"Oh, bother," Poppy grumbled.

Minerva could only guess that Poppy had begun casting some spells to ease her suffering, as the pain slowly but surely began to ebb away. "Thank you, Poppy," she whispered a minute later upon finding the strength to speak.

"There should be no actual damage," the Matron reported. "Though I'd urge to you rest for the remainder of today, as well as tomorrow."

"I have a school to fix!" Minerva responded, outraged.

"I'll keep the troops working," Neville offered. "She's right, Minerva. You need to rest."

"But…"

Neville silenced her objections with a kiss. Gentle but not in the least chaste, and she found herself responding readily in light of her recently returned memories. Her fingers ran through his hair as she pulled him close, and his hand reverently cradled the right side of her jaw, taking care not to pull her away from the soft pillow. "I'll be back to check on you later," he whispered, pulling away. If you'd like, we can talk then."

Too much in a passion induced haze to process much of anything, she just nodded, and a moment later he was gone. The sound of a snickering mediwitch brought her out of her stupor and she turned to offer her traditional glare to her friend. "What's so blood funny."

"Neville bloody Longbottom just managed what not even Albus Dumbledore ever did!" Poppy laughed. "He shut you up! Oh, and for the record, if that was half as good a kiss as it looked like, you're a damned idiot if you don't keep that young man around."

"I think I may, Poppy," she replied with a soft smile. "I think I just may."

* * *

As promised, Neville returned just later that evening, just in time to save her from the slop Poppy was attempting to feed her. "How about you go ahead down to the Great Hall for dinner," he suggested to the mediwitch. "I'll make sure she eats something."

"Nothing too heavy," Poppy instructed skeptically.

He smiled at her, and the minute she was gone he pulled a miniaturized basket out of his pocket and returned it to it's proper size. "Want some real food?" he asked, holding up the fixings for hearty sandwiches.

"Please!" she exclaimed gratefully.

If the memories of their time together hadn't already eased her mind regarding the potential of a real relationship between she and Neville, the kindness he had shown her in the last few hours alone would have had her seeing the man he'd become above the boy she'd known and taught for seven years. She wasn't sure who to credit for how much of a gentleman he was - certainly not the always brash Augusta - but she liked to imagine that, much like his father Frank, he'd come by that personality naturally.

Neville filled her in on the status of repairs while they ate, which she certainly appreciated , though by the end of their meal that conversation had dwindled into discussions of what still needed done, and when the first pause in conversation came along, Neville reached out and took her hand.

"I think I'm about done talking to the Headmistress," he said with a upward quirk of his lips. "Any chance that Minerva's up for a chat?"

"A long overdue one," she agreed with a smile. "I have some questions, before we start talking about any sort of… _future_."

He nodded - a cue for her to continue.

"What were you thinking, in December, pursuing me?" she asked. "Our considerable age difference aside, I was your Professor. You'd known me long enough and well enough to know that I'd have never have considered anything between us, beyond teacher and student relationship, had I been myself."

Neville sighed. "When I realized I was attracted to you, I grappled with that question a great deal. A part of me, as you pointed out, knew that before you were attacked, you'd never have gotten involved with me, and a part me felt guilty for even thinking about it, let alone acting on it. For a little while, I'd even talked myself into ignoring what I was feeling."

"What changed your mind?"

"You said that you were not yourself a minute ago," he began to explain. "Minerva, that couldn't be further from the truth. That month in the cottage, I saw who you really are for the first time. I saw the Minerva without the duty to uphold, the rules to follow, or the pain in your past. I saw the woman you were behind the professionalism. You have to understand that I had no way of knowing that when your memory returned, the price would be the memory of what happened between us, so don't think for a second that I imagined I'd be able to get off scot free. I was, and am prepared to face the consequences of us being together."

Minerva nodded, seeing sense in what he was saying. He was right, she admitted to herself. A part of her was beginning to wonder if the chemistry between them had always been inevitable, just waiting for a situation in which her walls could be brought down, and for her to be able to see past the little boy he'd been seven years ago.

"Why didn't you tell me what had happened between us?" she posed her next question without comment to his previous answer. "After you found out my memory of it was gone."

"There's no one good reason for that," he replied. "Part of it was seeing _Professor McGonagall_ again, that day in your office, and hating how it covered up the woman I'd grown to care for. I was afraid of the _Professor_. I've always known you and my Gran were friends, and Merlin knows I'm bloody terrified of _her_. I love her dearly, don't get me wrong, but she is a scary woman, who I'm never thrilled to cross. I viewed you in much the same way, and I feared if I told you, you'd be angry, and I wasn't prepared to face that. Further, I knew that even if you did not hex me out the door in the face of such an admission… frankly, we had a war to fight. It was not a time for romance."

"Of that, I agree," Minerva replied. "During the rebuilding is also not an ideal time for romance, but I feel putting off discussing what's already happened between us would do more damage than good at this point."

He nodded.

"You're a damned good kisser," she commened with a small grin, remembering the kiss that had left her breathless just this morning.

"Like that, did you?" he chuckled. "I wasn't trying to rush you into anything… I just… needed to."

"The only complaint I had was the fact that you did so in front of Poppy… who spent the next twenty minutes laughing. She's tickled to death at the prospect of… us," Minerva admitted.

"Perhaps the world won't react to us as a couple as bad as we imagine," the young man at her side mused as he moved from his chair to sit on the edge of her bed. "Perhaps…"

His fingers reached out and ghosted across her cheek as his voice trailed off and, much like this morning, arousal flooded through her. "Neville…" she whispered.

_I'm falling in love with you…_ she thought.

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